


The Only Part of Winter Left

by ZombieJesus



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga), Death Note: Another Note
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, DN characters in a sci-fi AU, Friendship, Gen, Implied Past Violence, Inspired by Stranger Things, Mind Control, Mystery, Orphans, Paranormal, Real? magic, Secrets, Soft Magic, but somewhere other than Wammy’s, inspired by Akira, telekenesis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 05:50:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15679269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombieJesus/pseuds/ZombieJesus
Summary: Six months before the destruction of Facility 67, a new resident found himself inducted into the strange orphanage on the edge of London, and quickly noticed something extraordinary about the other children.But what really happened there?





	The Only Part of Winter Left

_To Director [redacted],_

_I regret to inform you of the evacuation and severe damage sustained at Facility 67, which spontaneously occurred at approximately 3:00 GMT yesterday. Possibly related to the escape of five assets, who had left the premises shortly beforehand. No casualties, thanks to warnings from [redacted], but the scientific staff were barely able to evacuate in time._

_Assets still unaccounted for, but this will not be a repeat of the incident that occurred 5 years ago. Rest assured we are searching for them now and they will be recovered. Updates forthcoming._

_Sincerely,_

_[redacted]_

_January 14, 20XX_

 

———

 

Six months earlier....

 

Starlight is not noticed in glare of the afternoon, and so it was that Asset #127 went unnoticed for a good long while in the sunny dayroom of Facility 67 when the headmaster led him in, handcuffed, and plopped him roughly in a corner chair.

 

Of course, he didn’t know that he was the 127th orphan to come through those thick metal doors over its 6 years in existence. But he was, and that was the number he’d been given in their system.

 

The headmaster threaded his handcuffs through a metal ring behind him in the wall, and crouched down to finally get a good look at him. “My, my, aren’t you the lucky one?"

 

The goggles they’d put over his eyes made the whole world look red, but Asset #127 could make out the tense wrinkled face in front of him. And although he had to concentrate and squint, he could still make out the name and string of numbers floating above the old man's head. _Roger Ruvie._

 

Roger continued briskly, “I’m not sure they were entirely wise to choose _you_ , although far be it for me to question the Board’s methods. In any event, cause no trouble and you’ll be treated very well here. But, you’ll find we give no second chances, so unless you want to go back to Russia--”

 

_Seems my reputation precedes me._  Asset #127 breathed a barely-audible whisper in accented English, “No, I don’t.” He ground his teeth and looked at his feet. It felt odd to speak after being completely silent for three days--in the dark-tinted cars, the unmarked airplane, the black helicopter that finally delivered him here. But he never wanted to see his ‘old home,’ that adolescent gulag, ever again. A purported correctional facility for violent juvenile offenders, but in reality, a nightmarish trap of deprivation and cold where all the terrible things that could happen to children, happened. This place at least looked clean, the children didn’t appear to be starving or bruised. Asset #127 wanted to stay. “If I behave, will you take these glasses off me?” _I need them off, it's like looking up at the world from underwater._

 

“Perhaps, under the right conditions. Same goes for the handcuffs.” Roger stood up, yanking the cuffs to test them. “The others had to wear them at first too, as a...safety precaution.” He gave the goggles a firm tap, making the boy pull back. “And such precautions are necessary, we’ve discovered in the past.”

 

“Precaution from what? Are the lights gonna hurt my eyes or something?” Asset #127 scoffed quietly, tired and irritable from the long trek but knowing better to give a poor first impression.

 

Roger affected a knowing smile, ignoring the question. “You seem to already be beyond most of the others here. A natural talent, our associates told us.” Roger leaned down and whispered, “But I know from your file that you’re dangerous. I don’t plan to tell the others what you did, and I advise you to keep that to yourself as well, if you want to fit in here.”

 

_So they know about that._ Asset #127 nodded, slumping forward only to have the handcuffs force him to sit back up. He spoke to his new, too-white shoes, “What is it I’m supposed to be doing to ‘fit in’ here?”

 

Roger looked down his nose dispassionately, “That will depend on what you can do. For today, just watch the others. Tomorrow we’ll start your own tests in earnest. Real names are not used here, and your test results will determine your rank among the children. For now, you will answer to 127. You may call me Dr. R. Understood? Good. Welcome to the Facility.” With that, he adjusted his glasses and strode out of the room, leaving 127 handcuffed to the ring.

 

_Fuck. I don’t even get a name here?_ 127 felt familiar heat in his chest, rising to behind his eyes, but it was weaker with the goggles. _They hold me back, what in the hell are they?_ Eventually, he concluded there was nothing to lose by cooperating, of trying to make the best of this. He’d heard the whispers of his handlers on the way here, and had absorbed it was supposedly some great honor to be plucked from his slum to come live here in London.

 

_Ok, well, let’s watch then._ He scratched his leg with a sneakered foot and tried to focus through the red haze across the room. As 127 scanned the room, he noticed that each small form dressed in white was shadowed by an adult in a lab coat. _Scientists? Teachers?_ The adults would occasionally scribble something down in their notebooks or time certain events, but they never spoke or interacted with the children themselves. So, he was only meant to observe the observation of these children, and be watched in return by cameras in the ceiling that could not be hidden from his eyes, even with the goggles. _And who exactly is on the other end, watching me?_

 

The other children in the dayroom were occupied by their own individual tasks, but each one made his eyes go wider as he looked closely.

 

A surly-looking blonde teenager was peering intently into a glass experiment box, making a candle burn in the absence of oxygen, pounding his fist on the table and cursing when it flickered out. The adult behind him would ‘tut tut’ quietly, getting only a glare in return. _Mihael Keehl._

 

A tiny girl with long brown hair, maybe 7 or 8 years old, was painting blindfolded. But it was as detailed as a Renaissance masterwork, a recreation of the hand of God outstretched to mortal man from the Sistine Chapel. _Linda Somers._  

 

A catatonic-looking redheaded boy was staring at an enormous screen from a high-backed chair, appearing to control a complex flight simulation with only his eye movements.  _Mail Jeevas._

 

A child with snow-white hair was shuffling and spreading cards out face down, correctly naming their number and suit before turning them over one by one, only to repeat the process again.  _Nate River._

 

Finally, his gaze turned to an older black-haired boy about his own age. As their eyes met, the Rubix cube held within his palm levitated above it and began to...solve itself?! The older boy shyly turned his eyes back to the hovering cube as the last portion rotated into place.  _Alexei Truman._

 

He blinked, again scanning the room to make sure this was happening. It was as if 127 was observing a silent, choreographed performance of simultaneous miracles, five magic shows in miniature. And it became clear why he was here.

 

_They’re like me._

 

127 cast his eyes to the candle in the glass case, leaning his head forward slightly as he concentrated harder that he’d usually need to. The wick began to burn brightly, melting the candle in a few seconds.

 

“Hey! What’s the big idea!!“ The blonde teenager, Mihael, pushed away from the table and looked around in annoyance for the culprit.

 

In the time it took the adults to figure out something strange (stranger than usual, apparently) was going on, 127 had landed the simulated plane upside down in a pixilated football field, painted exquisitely detailed pubic hair on God, constructed a rendition of the Burj Khalifa from the playing cards, and was now levitating and solving every Rubix cube on the table.

 

The only one who was looking right at him was the brown haired-boy, Alexei, and as 127 gazed back with a wide grin, he heard a voice in his mind.

 

_**You’re new. Who are you?** _

 

127 was shocked, and didn’t know how or whether to reply. _How did he do that?_ He sucked in a breath as he felt his cuffs open with a soft metallic clink and snap shut again.

 

_**How do you do what you do?** _

 

_You can hear me?!_

 

**_Of course._ **

 

The adults were bustling around the room now, questioning the confused children and appearing to get frustrated as each shook their heads in turn. Alexei tugged the coat of one of the adults, “Apologies, it was me. I must have let my mind wander. It won’t happen again.”

 

127 heard the voice again, although Alexei was no longer looking at him.

 

_**Don’t show them everything you can do.** _

 

The adults seemed appeased as to who caused the trouble, but scolded Alexei quietly, leading him out of the room. He didn’t look at 127 as he left. _**You’ll be in my room. 3C. Show them as little as possible until we can talk.**_

 

_How do you know I’ll be in your room?_ 127 looked around as the rest of the children finally seemed to recognize his presence. They stole suspicious glances at him but went back to their tasks in silence, as if knowing better to cause further disruption.

 

Roger came into the dayroom as Alexei walked out, and he stopped in front of 127. Something seemed off, like Roger's eyes had gone glassy and unfocused for just a moment, and then snapped back to shrewd attention. “Come with me now, and I'll show you to your room.” He reached back to unlock the handcuffs, removing and pocketing them. “You’ll be in 3C.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I’m on tumblr @kiranatrix
> 
> Title comes from this poem by Jill Osier:
> 
> I’ll tell you this: I am the only part of winter left.  
> It beckoned and I followed, past all reason,  
> followed it like the end of a broken train through white woods,  
> and I stayed, with simple tools, set on trying to construct more of a season.  
> It has taken all of me to do it, and you would not believe the storms.  
> You would not believe how I sleep.  
> From here anything would sound like a cry.  
> Everything looks like pieces of God.


End file.
